Girl up the road whose mailbox says "The Miller Family"

Girl up the road whose mailbox says "The Miller Family"

A Poem by An Ordinary Woman
"

weird stuff I notice

"
She has lots of children, I think.
So many that she's too tired
          some days
she wears patchwork flannel shirts 
and jeans three sizes too big.
I see her in the yard arranging things
sandbox, tether ball, badminton.
Or sweeping the deck, 
her arms swinging back and forth,
long brown hair bending with each stroke
The yard has swings and slides
& riding toys galore,
so many things she must tend to.
She has lots of children, I think
Although I've never seen one. 

© 2015 An Ordinary Woman


Author's Note

An Ordinary Woman
I'll work on this a hundred times before it's done.

My Review

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Featured Review

I like this! It's haunting and human. Is she suffering from unfulfilled hope, or from loss, or is she simply the mother of a whole lot of children who simply never appear in public? It leaves the reader wondering, and feeling caught between curiosity, empathy, and sadness.

Posted 9 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

An Ordinary Woman

9 Years Ago

thank you my friend and it's quite good to see you here. Are you writing? Hmmm. I'll go see if you h.. read more



Reviews

Wow..you said a lot while only writing little. Its like a whole short story in
A little poem. You made me feel like she was my neighbor and I'm looking everyday for her children.
Great job.

Posted 9 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

An Ordinary Woman

9 Years Ago

Thanks Lady friend!
[send message][befriend] Subscribe
Gee
Really like what you've written,conjures up a great picture.Intriguing.

Posted 9 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

An Ordinary Woman

9 Years Ago

Thank you!
Gee

9 Years Ago

You're welcome

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829 Views
12 Reviews
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Added on January 20, 2015
Last Updated on January 20, 2015

Author

An Ordinary Woman
An Ordinary Woman

MO



About
We are born with poetry in our pockets however deep they might be. Little children grow up and turn into ourselves stories ready to sing, or the words we write to live by. We pray this poetry pr.. more..

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